The Science and Deduction of the Alphabet
by ThaliaSiriusPrior
Summary: A whole bunch of unrelated Johnlock oneshots with prompts throughout the alphabet. "'I'm falling again John. Falling far and falling hard. But this time, I want you to catch me.'" "Two years since a very life-shattering fall. Two years of pain. Two years of oblivion." Fluffy and angsty chapters alike! Rated T because there is some violence and mentions of drug use.
1. Afghanistan

**Author's Note: I recently started (and finished) watching Sherlock, and I've become obsessed. I really wanted to write Johnlock so I wrote a one-shot, then I wrote another, and I couldn't stop. So I ended up deciding I'd write a series of unrelated one-shots each with a prompt that had a different letter of the alphabet. Thanks to my friend Taylor for helping me come up with prompts. The first one is "Afghanistan". **

**Reviews and constructive criticism are always welcome! **

**Happy Reading!**

_**Disclaimer: I do not own **_**Sherlock****_. The show belongs to BBC and the books belong to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. _**

* * *

Afghanistan

As much as John tried to hide it, Sherlock always noticed. Sherlock noticed all the time and every time he did pain and empathy for his best friend clouded his eyes.

Yes, as much John tried to hide it, Sherlock could see his limp.

John didn't walk with a cane anymore. He never asked anyone to slow down for him. He acted like his injury was nonexistent. But Sherlock saw.

Sherlock saw the limp. He saw the exhaustion when John made sure to keep up with everyone else. He saw the small ounce of pain flicker through John's eyes when he puts pressure on his leg.

Sherlock saw war and destruction and a wound that will never fully heal. And that gave Sherlock his own kind of pain. He was pained emotionally. He felt John's pain. He truly did, even if he never showed it.

So, one day, Sherlock decided to ask John about Afghanistan. And, to his surprise, John responded.

"I was always one of the reckless ones. Everyone always knew I'd do something that could get me killed. And one day, I did. And the gunshot that took me down almost took my life."

And so John told Sherlock of his traumatic near-death experience. And Sherlock listened. He made not one remark. He made not one sarcastic gesture. It pained him to hear John talk about this. It pained him to know John went through this.

So when John's eyes were completely clouded with pain, Sherlock pulled him into an embrace. He held the smaller man as he trembled. And Sherlock knew it was about time John talked about it to someone other than a therapist. It was about time he showed some real emotion.

And, on some comforting impulse, Sherlock kissed John on the forehead. John just hugged him tighter.

They stayed like that for longer than Sherlock could keep track of, not that either man minded. John needed the comfort and Sherlock needed John.


	2. Balloon

**Author's Note: I already had this one written. So I figured I'd go ahead and post it. I'm posting the next one as well. Thanks to my friend Taylor for coming up with this prompt. **

**As always, reviews and constructive criticism are always welcome. **

**Happy reading!**

_**Disclaimer: I do not own **_**Sherlock****_. The show belongs to BBC and the books belong to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. _**

* * *

Balloon

"I don't understand, John. Why is this simple item so popular? It doesn't make sense. Why don't kids have fun with more important and interesting things, like microscopes and chemicals and murder mysteries?"

"It's a balloon, Sherlock. "

"But, John-"

"Sherlock. It's a balloon. A balloon. What's not to get?"

"I don't understand what's so enjoyable-"

"Sherlock. It's a kid's toy. It keeps them preoccupied and stops them from crying. It's literally plastic and helium and string. A balloon."

"But-"

"Sherlock! It's a balloon. That's it. End of subject." John was getting a bit annoyed. Sherlock might be a genius who can figure out a murder from the cleanliness of a wedding ring, but, for a genius, he sure could be an idiot sometimes.

Sherlock crossed his arms and said, "Fine. I'll figure this 'balloon' out on my own."

"Have fun with that. I'm going to sleep."

And sleep he did. All the while, Sherlock stayed up and wondered about the use of a balloon. A balloon, for God's sake. And when John awoke the next morning, he found Sherlock exactly where he had left him the night before, sitting on the couch with his head in his hands.

"Did you stay up all night, Sherlock?"

"I am contemplating the balloon."

"Still? Sherlock, you are still a human being, believe it or not. You need sleep."

"But balloons."

"Sherlock, I'm going out. We need some groceries. I want you to get some sleep while I'm gone."

"But John-"

"Sherlock. Sleep." And with that he left.

* * *

John returned a few hours later, and put the groceries away. Sherlock was still sleeping soundly.

"Sherlock!"

He woke up and lifted his head a bit groggily. "John? How long was I out?"

"A few hours. I have a surprise for you."

Sherlock sat up. "You do?"

"Yes, I do."

"Well, what is it?"

John laughed and pulled a bag of balloons out of his pocket. "Balloons. I'm going to show you what I did as a kid."

He then proceeded to take out a few balloons. He blew them up and tossed one into the air. When it came down, he hit it once more to launch it back upwards. "The goal is to keep the balloon from touching the ground."

"Child's play, John."

"That's kind of the point, Sherlock. Here, you try." He hit the balloon in Sherlock's direction. Sherlock hit it back and so their game began.

It went on like this for quite a long time, until the balloon took a haywire direction and both John and Sherlock dove to keep it from touching the ground.

As it turned out, the balloon touched the ground anyway, but neither of the two men could be bothered to notice. They were too preoccupied by the fact that John was on top of Sherlock and they were so close they could feel each other's heartbeats, both of which were unusually fast.

"Sh-Sherlock."

"Yes, John?"

"I should probably get off of you, shouldn't I?"

"I don't think there's any need, John."

"There isn't?"

"No."

"And why is that?"

"Because I'm in the perfect position to do this." And Sherlock promptly kissed him. And John promptly kissed back.

In the back of his mind, Sherlock couldn't help but think that balloons weren't so bad after all.


	3. Catch Me

**Author's Note: Chapter Three! Woo! This was actually the first Johnlock fanfiction I'd ever written, so this one is a bit rough, sorry. **

**I was listening to 'Catch Me' by Demi Lovato when I wrote this. The song has nothing to do with this one-shot other than the words "Catch Me," but it's a good song if you want to check it out.**

**Constructive criticism and reviews are always welcome!**

**Happy reading!**

_**Disclaimer: I do not own **_**Sherlock****_. The show belongs to BBC and the books belong to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. _**

* * *

Catch Me

John had never been happier than when he came home to the noise of Sherlock's violin.

It had been two years. Two long, terrible, boring, tear-filled years without the arrogant prat known as Sherlock Holmes. Two years John was happy to have behind him.

John came running up the stairs, never mind that old injury. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered but Sherlock. Nothing mattered but his best friend, come back from the dead.

"Sherlock! Sherlock! Sherlock, please tell me that's you!"

No answer came, but John saw for himself. The audible sigh of relief, the smile spreading across John's face, and the slight brightening of his eyes made a smile break out across Sherlock's face.

"John. I'm glad to see you. I've missed you these past couple of years."

"And I've missed you, Sherlock. I've missed you and your crazy deductions and your arrogance and everything that makes you a prat and a git."

Sherlock simply smiled, but the tune he played on his violin became a bit lighter. He had missed home.

* * *

It had been a month since the reunion, and Sherlock had another case. Once again, said case had John and Sherlock travelling, this time to a small town in Scotland.

"Think, John. Think. How could this have possibly happened?" Sherlock asked the doctor, a grin spreading across his face.

"I don't know, Sherlock. But I'm sure you do. So why don't you just tell me?" John replied, obviously exasperated.

"John, think. Figure it out. I know you can. Think, John."

"I am thinking, Sher-"

But John's angry retort was cut off by the inn's manager. "Can I help you two?"

"Yes, actually. We're in need of some place to stay while we're in town. We're in from London."

"Of course." He handed John the room key. "You two boys have fun." He winked and smiled at John. "He's attractive. You're one lucky man."

People thought that Sherlock and John were an item quite often-almost everywhere they go-but this time was different. John didn't correct the man, nor did he cry out, "I'm straight!" in indignation. And Sherlock noticed, of course. He notices everything.

So here they were fifteen minutes later sitting by the fire when Sherlock asked, "John?"

"Hmm..?"

"Why didn't you correct him?"

"Pardon?"

"You always make sure to correct those who assume we are romantically involved. Why was this time any different?"

John simply smiled and said, "Because I thought quite often during the two years you were gone. I've realised that maybe I wish they were right."

Sherlock looked up in slight shock and he replied, "I wish they were as well."

"Oh?"

"Yes. I've been attracted to you since we first met. I'm falling again, John. Falling far and falling hard. But this time, I want you to catch me. Will you?"

John looked up, moved over to his best friend, brushed his lips lightly over his, and smirked. "Obviously."


	4. Deductions

**Author's Note: The next chapter in Johnlock's ABCs. D is for Deductions. I hope you enjoy!**

**Reviews and constructive criticism are always welcome!  
Happy Reading!**

_**Disclaimer: I do not own**_** Sherlock****_. The show belongs to BBC and the books belong to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle._**

* * *

Deductions

John usually left the deductions to Sherlock. Deductions were Sherlock's thing. He was the world's only consulting detective, after all.

But John had learned a few things while being Sherlock's right hand man. And, lately, John had been able to make some deductions of his own. And he wasn't so sure about how he felt about the conclusions he'd drawn.

He'd decided that he was going to observe Sherlock. He knew it was a dangerous pastime, but he had gotten bored at one of the crime scenes. He'd opted for observation, and, to John at least, Sherlock was by far the most interesting thing there.

Yes, Sherlock. With his height and his mind and his curly hair and his voice and just him. He looked beautiful on that crime scene.

_Wait, wait, wait. Did I just call Sherlock Holmes 'beautiful'? Get it together, John!_

Where were we? Oh yes! Deductions. As has been established, John made some deductions of his own.

Sherlock Holmes was in love.

John saw all the signs Sherlock had rambled on about once. Sherlock blushed frequently, smiled a bit too often, breathed rapidly, and had dilated pupils. It was the truth, John knew. Sherlock was truly in love.

The part he didn't know what to think about was the fact that Sherlock was in love with him. He knew it was true. He only blushed when John was looking at him. He smiled a bit too often only at John. He breathed rapidly only when John was particularly close. His pupils dilated only when looking at none other than Dr. John Watson. Sherlock was definitely in love with him. There was absolutely no denying it.

And the craziest part? John loved him back.

_Yeah,_ John thought, _I should definitely leave the deductions to Sherlock._


	5. Envelope

**Author's Note: The next installment of Johnlock's ABC's. E is for envelope. Thanks to my friend Taylor for coming up with the prompt.**

**Reviews and constructive criticism are always welcome!  
Happy Reading!**

_**Disclaimer: I do not own**_** Sherlock****_. The show belongs to BBC and the books belong to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle._**

* * *

Envelope

John's heart raced. He couldn't believe what he had in his hands. He couldn't believe this was real. He couldn't believe anything anymore, it seemed. He hasn't been able to since Afghanistan, where everything made sense. But, judging from his rapid heartbeat and his incredibly red face, maybe John had found a taste for things that didn't make sense.

Sherlock Holmes, for one, didn't make sense.

The item that John held in his hand also made no sense.

Nevertheless, both existed. Both were real. Both were true. And John's heart sped up at the sight of both of them.

Not that he'd ever admit that.

What John held in his hand was nothing special. It was simple. It held no value if John were to sell it. But, to John, it was priceless. Nothing in the world could mean more.

What John held in his hand was a simple, sealed envelope.

There was nothing written on it except his own name, "Dr. John Watson." That was it. There was no return address. But John knew the handwriting on the small envelope. He knew it better than his own.

John couldn't help it if his breath hitched when he opened the envelope to find a letter. It was a small letter, only twelve words long. But John couldn't have cared. Those twelve words meant more to him than anything in the world.

_I'm not dead. Meet me at 221B Baker Street at noon._

_ -Sherlock_


	6. Falling

**Author's Note: Here's the next installment of "The Science and Deduction of the Alphabet". F is for falling. **

**WARNING: Tons of angst and feelings are coming. Sorry about that. And it won't end there. G is for gunshot.**

**Reviews and constructive criticism are always welcome!  
Happy Reading!**

_**Disclaimer: I do not own**_** Sherlock****_. The show belongs to BBC and the books belong to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle._**

* * *

Falling

_He's going to do it. He really is_, John thought nervously. _Sherlock is going to jump._

_And then I'll be alone. All alone._

"Sherlock! Stop this nonsense! Go down the stairs! Come back! Don't jump, Sherlock! Please! For my sake, don't jump!"

"I'm sorry, John. I have to. It's-It's for the best." Sherlock's voice was cracking. He's crying, John realised. Sherlock Holmes is crying.

"Sherlock, please. Please."

But there was no one on the other end of the line.

Sherlock had done the unthinkable. Sherlock had jumped.

_He's falling. He's really falling. And there's nothing I can do about it. My best friend just committed suicide, and here I am, standing uselessly to the side._

"Sherlock," John whispered brokenheartedly as he heard the crack of Sherlock hitting the pavement.

_He jumped. He's dead. And he left me here. Cold and empty and alone. Sherlock's gone. And I'm all alone. Completely alone. My best friend just committed suicide._

_He's gone. He's really and truly gone._

John didn't cry. John never cried. Even in Afghanistan, he barely shed a tear. Yet, here he was, crying because Sherlock had fallen. He fell and now he's gone.

And John was completely and totally empty.

Yes, Sherlock had fallen. He gave John a note, took a step to the highest point on the roof, and he jumped.

And John had no idea why.

All he knew was that Sherlock told him some complete and utter lies, jumped, and fell. And he fell right when John had begun truly falling for him.


	7. Gunshot

**Author's Note: Here's the next installment of "The Science and Deductions of the Alphabet". G is for gunshot. It's not exactly all fluff...  
I'm not quite sure if the next installment will be fluffy or angsty or a mixture of both, as H is for Hero.**

**Reviews and constructive criticism are always welcome!  
Happy Reading!**

_**Disclaimer: I do not own **_**Sherlock****_. The show belongs to BBC and the books belong to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle._**

* * *

Gunshot

Sherlock was running. He was running as fast as his legs could take him. He didn't care who he ran into or in front of. He just had to get there. He had to get to him.

No, it wasn't the gunshot that had Sherlock running. It was the scream he heard afterward.

John's scream.

"JOHN! JOHN! JOHN! ANSWER ME, JOHN!" Sherlock yelled as he ran to his best friend's side.

"Sh-Sherlock? Is-is that you?" John's voice came out weak and fragile.

"It's me, John. I'm here." Sherlock looked around. Red was all he saw. So much blood. So much red.

"Help me, Sherlock. Call the police. Call an ambulance. Help me. So... much... pain..."

Sherlock almost couldn't handle the pain in John's voice. But he managed to pull himself together long enough to get out his phone and call an ambulance and the police.

"Thank... thank you, Sherlock. For everything. For helping me come out of my slump after coming back from Afghanistan. For being my best friend. For being there." John sounded like he didn't think he was going to make it long enough for the ambulance to get there.

"Don't-don't talk like that, John. We'll get you all fixed up in no time." On an impulse, Sherlock grabbed his hand. "You'll be all right. You'll be okay."

"Sherlock, come closer." Sherlock complied. "A bit closer." Sherlock once again leaned closer. He was close enough for John to whisper quietly in his ear, "I love you, Sherlock Holmes."

Sherlock didn't have time to respond before John fell unconscious.

"I love you too, John. I always have," Sherlock whispered sadly.

Sherlock was still holding John's hand when the ambulance got there. He never let go, not once.

They had to force him away from John when they had to operate.

Sherlock didn't sleep. Sherlock didn't even sit down. He just paced in worry, unconsciously whispering John's name from time to time.

Sherlock couldn't hide his immense joy when the doctors came out saying that he could go see John.

He almost ran to the hospital room John was in. When he went in, his was shaking with happiness. John was alive. His John was alive.

"John," he breathed.

"Hello, Sherlock."

"You're okay. I told you that you would be." Sherlock came over and grabbed his hand once more.

"I'm all right, Sherlock. I really am."

They sat like that in silence for awhile until Sherlock broke the silence by saying, "I have a response to what you told me earlier."

John's breath hitched. "You do?"

"Yes. I love you too, John." Then he brushed his lips lightly over the smaller man's.

* * *

Later, Sherlock and John both awoke from nightmares of gunshots and red, but they had each other to wrap themselves up in, and that allowed them to always sleep soundly.


	8. Hero

**Author's Note: Time for the next installment! H is for hero! This one shouldn't break your heart (for a change). The next chapter should be fluffy and/or funny, as i is for impressions. **

**Reviews and constructive criticism are always welcome! **

**Happy Reading!**

_**Disclaimer: I do not own **_**Sherlock****_. The show belongs to BBC and the books belong to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. _**

Hero

Sherlock Holmes had always said that he wasn't a hero.

It didn't really matter how many lives he saved, how many mysteries he solved, or how many murderers he'd brought to justice. He refused to consider himself a hero.

John Watson wasn't so sure.

John started thinking of the man as a hero when he got Sherlock to explain why he jumped. Sherlock didn't want to, but awhile after he had come back, John finally got him to tell.

And John wasn't quite sure how to react.

"I-I, um, I jumped for you, John."

John almost choked. "Pardon?"

"I jumped for you, John. Moriarty, he threatened to kill you if I didn't. And I knew he was serious, what with posting all of those assassins all around. I-I couldn't let him do it, John. I couldn't let him hurt you. I don't think I could've lived with myself. I know I couldn't have lived without you. So I had to 'kill myself.' That's how it was. If I was able to go back and do it all over, I would do the exact same thing. Simply because you matter to me, John. You really do."

His response stopped John in his tracks. His words stuck in his throat, so he simply nodded.

"Are you alright, John?" Sherlock asked worriedly.

John replied, "Of course I am. I, uh, I think I'll be heading off to bed now. Goodnight, Sherlock."

"Goodnight, John."

Even now, several weeks later, John wasn't sure what to make of Sherlock's response. He thought about it much too often. Sherlock had caught him staring a few times. John just wasn't himself.

Sherlock Holmes had him upside down.

So John finally got up the courage to talk to him.

"Sherlock?"

"Yes, John?"

"Can I talk to you for a minute?"

"We're talking now, John."

"Let me rephrase that. Can I talk to you when you're looking at me and not at a microscope slide?"

Sherlock looked up at the doctor. "What is it, John?"

"It's about what you said a few weeks ago, about why you jumped."

"Mm-hmm."

"I've been thinking about it since and I've reached a conclusion."

"Go on."

"You know how you've always said you weren't a hero?"

"I'm not a hero, John."

"Yes, Sherlock, you are. You are a hero. But, more importantly, you're my hero."


	9. Impressions

**Author's Note: Woo! Next chapter of The Science and Deductions of the Alphabet! Sorry I uploaded so late in the day, this was the first chapter I didn't have prewritten. I had family in town over the weekend and didn't have much time to write.  
Anyways, I is for impressions! It's fluffier than some of the earlier chapters. And the next chapter should be fluffy and cute as well, as J is for Jealous.**

**Reviews and constructive criticism are always welcome!  
Happy Reading!**

_**Disclaimer: I do not own**_** Sherlock****_. The show belongs to BBC and the books belong to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle._**

* * *

Impressions

Dr. John's Watson's first impression of Sherlock Holmes was not a good one.

Sherlock Holmes left him in a mixture of anger, amazement, astonishment, confusion, and awe. The man was rude. He was arrogant. He was a bit _too_ blunt. He was absolutely insufferable.

And John was completely enthralled with the man.

He'd never met anyone quite like him. He doubted there was anyone in the world quite like him. For God's sake, the man could tell almost his entire life story by looking at his cell phone and his stature.

John wasn't exactly sure what to make of the man. Was he dangerous? Was he insane? Was he a sociopath? Was he a psychopath? John wasn't quite sure. He could've been one of them. He could've been a couple of them. He could've been all of them.

That's what made him so captivating.

* * *

Sherlock's first impression of John Watson was, in short, _Soldier. Doctor. Hero. Intriguing. Different._

Sherlock had never found anyone quite like John Watson. He seemed to be one of the only ones able to put up with his arrogance, his deductions, his sociopathy. He was special.

He was... interesting.

Sherlock was intrigued. John Watson didn't seem to be going anywhere. He didn't run off after a few words. He could actually put up with Sherlock Holmes, it seemed.

So Sherlock decided to test his theory. He wouldn't hide one aspect of himself to John. _Let's see if he stays. Let's see. Barely anyone stays. It just doesn't happen. Let's see if he's different._

* * *

It had been years. They'd been best friends and flatmates for years. And John didn't leave. John had stayed. He really was different. The others had told him to stay away from Sherlock Holmes, but he stayed even then.

And Sherlock was still as intrigued by this as ever.

And one day as they were sitting boredly in their living room, having not had a case for a week or more, they began to talk about impressions. And when John asked what Sherlock's first impression of him was, Sherlock answered.

"You were a soldier. You were a hero. You were a doctor. You were intriguing. You were different."

"What do you mean by 'different', Sherlock?"

"You didn't seem to be put off by my... eccentricities. You got more than a glimpse of my arrogance, my blunt deductions, my sociopathy. But you didn't leave. You stayed, all this time. You were different, John. You intrigued me. You still do."

John wasn't quite sure how to respond to that. So, instead, he told of his first impressions of Sherlock. "I thought you were rude, arrogant, blunt, insufferable. I thought you were dangerous, insane, sociopathic, maybe even psychopathic. But, most of all, I thought you were captivating. I was enthralled with your personality. You left me in anger, awe, astonishment, and confusion. You were fascinating."

Sherlock stopped for a while to collect his thoughts. After a minute or so, he asked, "So what do you think of me now?"

"Oh, about the same. You are rude, blunt, sociopathic, arrogant, all of those things. I'm still completely enthralled with you, Sherlock. There are a few additions to my list, though."

"Oh?"

"Yes. You're a wonderful best friend. You're a lot more caring than you let on. You have an actual heart, Sherlock. And you're beautiful. You really are."

"You're the beautiful one, John. Not me. You know why? Because your first impression of me was spot-on. I am rude. I am blunt and sociopathic and arrogant and all those other things. And you're so much more than I deserve."

"Sherlock, sometimes first impressions are important. And mine was. Not because I learned to deal with you and your insufferable personality early on, but because you made me engrossed. I was engrossed with you, Sherlock. I still am. I'm not more than you deserve, Sherlock. You're beautiful and wonderful and amazing and completely captivating." He grabbed Sherlock's hand and lightly brushed his lips over Sherlock's. "There's one more thing on my list. Know what it is?"

"What, John?" he asked, trembling a bit.

"You're mine."


	10. Jealous

**Author's Note: The next installment of The Science and Deduction of the Alphabet! J is for jealous. And who doesn't love a jealous Sherlock?**

**I'm sorry about not uploading for two days. I had a bit of writer's block and I started watching Supernatural. **

**The next chapter should be really fluffy, because K is for kiss. **

**Reviews and constructive criticism are always welcome!**

**Happy Reading!**

_**Disclaimer: I do not own **_**Sherlock****_. The show belongs to BBC and the books belong to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. _**

* * *

Jealous

There was a new inspector at Scotland Yard, and Sherlock wasn't happy about it.

She was a pretty woman, maybe a few years younger than John. She seemed to be a smart lady and she was focused enough.

Sherlock's problem was that her focus was primarily on John.

It was obvious that she was attracted to him. Her pupils dilated. She seemed to go into dazes quite often. She made an effort to touch John as much as possible, whether it be brushing slightly past him or tapping him on the shoulder when she needed him rather than asking. And the worst part, she made quite sure that she made her breasts look as big as possible when around him.

Despicable.

After about a week of this, Sherlock had had quite enough.

There she was once again perking her breasts up and getting as close as John as she could, even leaning into him at points. She was wearing clothes a bit tighter than what was exactly professional and she was making her hair flounce at every opportunity.

Disgusting.

Sherlock couldn't help but take plenty of notice of her flirty behaviour. After all, it was John she was directing her behaviour towards.

She was flirting with _his_ John. His beautiful doctor who shared his home, his cases, and his heart. His beautiful doctor who deserved much more than some flirty inspector.

His doctor whose taste (Sherlock hoped) was the world's only consulting detective.

"Excuse me, ma'am, but have you no shame?" Sherlock ridiculed.

"I beg your pardon?"

"You have been flirting constantly with a man who obviously does not share your affections. You are insistent. You won't stop." He paused, then added for good measure, "Besides, this man is already taken."

The newest inspector looked horrified and ran off. John glared and asked, "Who, exactly, am I taken by?"

Sherlock slipped his hand through John's. "Me."

John's frown quickly disappeared.

After all, he was Sherlock's, and if someone's feelings were damaged in the process, well, that was simply Sherlock's way.


	11. Kiss

**Author's Note: Woo! Next installment of The Science and Deduction of the Alphabet! K is for kiss!**

**Reviews and constructive criticism are always welcome! Thanks to all of my readers!  
Happy Reading!**

_**Disclaimer: I do not own **_**Sherlock****_. The show belongs to BBC and the books belong to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle._**

* * *

Kiss

Sherlock Holmes had never been one for physical contact.

No matter if it was kissing, hugging, or simply holding hands, Sherlock was not a fan of it. He didn't figure anything was wrong with that. He didn't like even talking to most people, why would he want to touch them? Most of the people he'd met were vile, uninteresting, ignorant. Why would he sully himself to give them a reassuring pat on the back, a friendly hug, or even a professional handshake? Physical contact was not necessary in the slightest.

Sherlock Holmes started to change his opinion of physical contact after he started dating John Watson.

John, so it seemed, happened to be quite for physical contact, on the other hand. Sherlock had noticed this with John's other dates; he was always brushing against them or taking their hand and other things of such nature. That was when Sherlock began to openly and passionately despise physical contact.

Despite this fiery hatred, John was still fond of the contact. As result, John would touch Sherlock quite often. He would brush up against him or make sure they lightly touched when he passed by. He would hold Sherlock's hand ever so often, especially when out during cases. He would lean against Sherlock when they sat together on the sofa. John seemed to be touching him all the time.

Needless to say, Sherlock began to warm up to physical contact. He even began to reach a point where he longed for it. He started returning such gestures. He had even taken up the initiative to take John's hand a time or two.

No matter how much Sherlock warmed to the contact, he still had no desire to partake in a kiss. He wanted no part of kissing, even if it was with John. Sherlock didn't care if the kiss was fiery and passionate or if it was gentle and chaste. A kiss was a kiss, and a kiss was something Sherlock did not want.

John wanted to kiss Sherlock, though. That was quite obvious. Sherlock could see desire for passion in his eyes, his motions, his whole body. But Sherlock was still new to physical contact, so John held himself back.

But one day John couldn't take it anymore.

They were sitting together on the sofa, neither of them really watching the show that was on the telly. Sherlock was thinking of the case they had gotten that day, his hands pulling at and fiddling with his hair absentmindedly.

Sherlock looked up from the floor and stared right into John's eyes. And John looked so beautiful. So when John started leaning in, his resolve deteriorating, Sherlock started leaning in as well.

Their lips met in a chaste, soft kiss at first. It was gentle. It was sweet. It was caring. It was a kiss that portrayed their years of built-up feelings for one another.

But soon the kiss started to heat up a bit. Sherlock locked his hands around John's waist, pulling him closer and closer, impossibly closer. John's arms flew around Sherlock's neck and eventually found their way up to his hair. His fingers pulled through the curls, his hands flying through Sherlock's gorgeous black hair without thought.

Their kiss became deeper and deeper as time went on. Built-up passion and need was fueling fire that Sherlock didn't realise he had. Passionate heat radiated off of the two men.

When the need for air was extremely prominent, John pulled away. They were still lying on the sofa, but in their heat Sherlock had ended up atop John. They were both breathing heavily, faces red and bodies tense. John pulled Sherlock down for one more kiss, but pulled away quickly. "I love you, Sherlock."

"I love you too, John."

In the end, Sherlock still wasn't one for physical contact, but he wasn't exactly one for love either. John was the exception. That fact was sealed with a kiss.


	12. Lock

**Author's Note: It's been four days since I've updated, and I'm extremely sorry. I don't know why I've taken so long to write, but I need to get it together before this becomes a habit. I did have a bit of writer's block on this one, though. So I'm sorry if it's not exactly up to par.**

**Thanks to my friend Taylor for giving me this prompt! L is for Lock!**

**Reviews and constructive criticism are always welcome!  
Happy reading!**

_**Disclaimer: I do not own **_**Sherlock****_. The show belongs to BBC and the books belong to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle._**

* * *

Lock

Sherlock, a genius and the world's only consulting detective, had locked himself out of the flat.

John was at work and Sherlock had gone out to get some lunch, as there wasn't any food in the refrigerator again. He'd had a nice lunch, walked back from Angelo's, and came home to find that his door was locked. And he had forgot a key. And it was cold outside. Blisteringly cold.

So what would one do when they lock themselves out of their shared flat? Usually, Sherlock would break the lock but last time John wasn't exactly thrilled when he did so. So what would the other option be? Call the flatmate.

"What do you want, Sherlock? I'm working."

"Hello, John. I've-er-It seems I've, um, locked myself out of the flat."

"You did what?"

"I've locked myself out of the flat. I went to Angelo's for lunch and forgot my key."

John's voice seemed to be both amused and irritated at the same time. "I'm with a patient, Sherlock. I can't just go and unlock the door for you."

"But John..."

"I've got a lunch break in twenty minutes. I'll be there in half an hour."

"John.."

"Goodbye, Sherlock." He hung up as soon as the last words came out of his mouth.

Sherlock slipped into a nearby shop to grab some tea and shelter himself from the freezing cold outside. He sipped at his tea, trying to warm up. When he finished, about twenty minutes had passed.

Sherlock went back up to the counter, something occurring to him. He realised John would be missing most of his lunch break to let Sherlock in the house, so Sherlock ordered John's favourite, slipped the bag into his coat, and headed back to his still-locked flat.

John arrived at 221B about a minute after Sherlock. He said a simple, "Hello," in greeting, took out his keys, and hurriedly unlocked the door.

"Thank you, John."

"You're welcome, Sherlock. Have you been standing in this cold for the past half-hour?"

"I was actually at that little cafe down the road. I had some tea and brought you something to eat, since you took your lunch break to unlock the door," he replied, handing John the bag that contained his meal.

"Thank you, Sherlock."

"You're welcome, John."

It was obvious John wanted to stay and eat, but he glanced down at his watch and realised he couldn't. "I need to get back, Sherlock. I'll see you after my shift ends." He smiled and kissed his partner on the cheek. "Goodbye, Sherlock."

"Goodbye, John."

Sherlock was glad he'd waited for John to come rather than busting down the door as per usual. After all, it had earned him a kiss on the cheek.


	13. Mimicry

**Author's Note: Next chapter! M is for mimicry!** **In which Sherlock is an actual five-year-old. Sorry L and M aren't the best chapters. The next two will be awesome, if not a bit more extreme (they're both about addictions).**

**Constructive criticism and reviews are always welcome!**

**Happy reading!**

_**Disclaimer: I do not own **_**Sherlock****_. The show belongs to BBC and the books belong to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. _**

* * *

Mimicry

When Sherlock was angry or upset, he became a bit childish.

Right now would be a perfect example, as when John reprimanded the man on his rudeness, he began to mimic John. _Really, Sherlock? Mimicry. Sometimes I think you're an actual five year old_, John thought, rolling his eyes.

Sherlock's face would twist more and more with every word he said, all of them an echo of John's in a silly voice.

"Sherlock, you're being childish," John sighed, exasperated.

As expected, Sherlock shot back, "Sherlock, you're being childish."

"Stop this nonsense!"

"Stop this nonsense!"

"Sherlock..."

"Sherlock..."

"Sometimes I swear you're actually a five year old."

Sherlock's face twisted even more and his voice became extremely high-pitched, "Sometimes I swear you're actually a five year old."

John just sighed, deciding he'd shut up. Then Sherlock would stop as he wouldn't have any words to mimic.

Of course, Sherlock simply mimicked John's sigh, exaggerated as all Hell.

When John plopped down on the sofa, so did Sherlock. When John tiredly rubbed his eyes, so did Sherlock.

John just didn't know how to make him stop.

_Well maybe... No. I couldn't do that. It would be too weird. He's my best friend. He's my flatmate. He's... Sherlock._

But after a few minutes of debating, John figured his idea was worth a try. He was going to make Sherlock uncomfortable.

When John grabbed Sherlock's hand, Sherlock grabbed John's. When John leaned into Sherlock, Sherlock leaned into John. After John played with Sherlock's hair, Sherlock fiddled with John's.

_He just won't give up_, John thought. _What should I do?_

But before he had an answer, Sherlock had kissed him.

And John must've decided to perform some mimicry of his own, because he kissed back.


	14. Nicotine

**Author's Note: N is for nicotine! Sorry this chapter took so long to upload, I've recently moved into my brother's old bedroom and I've been painting and decorating and moving furniture the last few days. I've had little time to write.**

**This one is about Sherlock's addiction to cigarettes.  
The next one will be about substance abuse, as fair warning.**

**Reviews and constructive criticism are always welcome!  
Happy Reading!**

_**Disclaimer: I do not own **_**Sherlock****_. The show belongs to BBC and the books belong to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle._**

* * *

Nicotine

Sherlock was trying to quit. He really was. But old habits die hard.

It wasn't a habit, really. It was an addiction. The feeling of the cigarette between his hands. The release he felt whenever he smoked. It brought him a sort of unique solace, one that was different to all else.

_Nicotine addiction_, Sherlock deduced, _is a hard thing to break._

Some things helped. Whenever Sherlock had something to do, a case, maybe, it was easier to stop. He had something occupying his mind, his thoughts. Cigarettes were pushed out of his brain, he had no need for nicotine.

It was a habit he'd started at a young age, he was still a teenager. It was meant to keep him occupied when he was bored, low, whenever he had an aching for a cigarette between his fingers. It soon became an addiction, quite without Sherlock's realising. When he decided to stop, it didn't exactly come easy.

Breaking an addiction isn't the easiest thing to do.

John helped. He would keep the cigarettes away, hidden. He would find some odd task for Sherlock to do when no cases were available. He'd keep his mind occupied.

Even when John had no odd task for Sherlock, his mind was kept occupied. He was fascinated with John himself. Sherlock was intrigued from the first day. Just observing John kept him happy.

Sherlock craved for a cigarette only when John was gone. When he was at work or at a girlfriend's house. Nicotine kept him from thinking about John, or, at least, that's what he told himself.

John had been gone for about a week now, he had gone to visit Harry, trying to sort some things out with his sister. Sherlock missed him like you'd never believe. He craved cigarettes more than ever before. He needed it to keep him at least halfway sane.

Sherlock had torn that flat apart in the past week looking for cigarettes. He had found none. Either John was the best hide-and-seek player in the world (highly unlikely) or he had taken Sherlock's cigarettes and lighter with him.

Sherlock almost went insane. He couldn't take it. He couldn't stand it. He needed nicotine.

And when John walked in the door to 221B Baker Street after a week of being gone, Sherlock almost attacked him.

"Hello, Sherlock."

"Hello, John. How was the trip?"

"Fine. Harry and I sorted some things out. Our sibling relationship is much better now."

"Great."

"And how about you? What have you been up to, Sherlock?"

Sherlock looked up and looked John right in the eyes, a crazed look in his own. "I've been going insane, John. I need a cigarette. John! I _need_ a cigarette!"

"Sherlock, I am not giving you a cigarette!"

Sherlock rose from his seat quickly, walking over to John, lowering his face to meet the shorter man's. "I need a cigarette, John. I need nicotine."

"No, you don't, Sherlock. You need a distraction. You need a nicotine substitute."

"I think I know the perfect one," Sherlock whispered, lowering his face even more.

"Oh? What would that be?"

"You."

John was the one who closed the gap between their faces in the end.

And so Sherlock found his nicotine substitute that day. It was John. But, in Sherlock's opinion, John was oh so much better.


	15. Oblivion

**Author's Note: O is for oblivion. This one isn't fluffy. NOAPNOAPNOAPNOAPNOAP. Sorry about this. This one made me feel pain. It's definitely on a more serious note. Sorry if you wanted some fluff, but this one was too good of an opportunity to pass up.**

**Reviews and constructive criticism are always welcome!  
Happy Reading!**

_**Disclaimer: I do not own**_** Sherlock****_. The show belongs to BBC and the books belong to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle._**

* * *

**WARNING: DRUG USE**

Oblivion

John Watson was not proud.

John would never be proud. He's quite ashamed actually. But everyone has their own way of coping, and the only one that actually worked was this.

And it was the only thing that kept John halfway sane.

He never really meant for it to happen, but he was particularly low one night and he just needed it to all go away. He needed something to keep him alive. He needed something to keep him from insanity.

And he tried it. He tried it and he liked it. After countless attempts at refuge, it was the first that worked. It was the first and the only thing that worked. And it was worth it all.

No, John Watson was not proud of his drug addiction, but oblivion was worth it all.

That's really the only reason he took the drugs: oblivion. He wanted to forget. He wanted bliss. He wanted to distract himself from the scene that had been running through his mind for years, the scene that stole his salvation. The scene where his consulting detective jumped off a roof. The scene that left him alone. The scene that ruined what bit of his life he'd manage to salvage.

One quick jump. One hard fall. One line gone. One life ruined.

Oblivion. Sweet bliss. It kept him away from it all. Sweet, sweet oblivion.

He missed Sherlock. He missed his best friend. He missed the man who annoyed him, fascinated him, and made him smile all at the same time. He missed the irritating, rude deductions. He missed everything about the man.

But that man was dead now, jumped off a building with nothing but a phone call and some lies. And John was devastated. He needed distraction. He needed something to keep his sanity. He needed ignorance. He needed bliss. He needed oblivion.

And the drugs gave him that. So John kept at them. But he wasn't proud.

He'd never be proud.

But Sherlock was gone, and what did it matter? John was depressed before he met Sherlock. He was even more depressed after Sherlock was gone.

He needed his detective, more than he'd actually like to admit. He needed the rush of adrenaline he felt when they were on a case or even when Sherlock was standing rather close. But he couldn't have that. So bliss and oblivion it was.

John wasn't quite sure why he came up with oblivion to describe it. That's what it was, but it's not what John would've usually thought to call it. Maybe it had started when he'd heard that after death came oblivion. Maybe he realised he was just that much closer to death without his saving grace. Maybe he was already dead.

When oblivion came, so did Sherlock. John could feel Sherlock's arms around him, he could hear Sherlock's black, curly locks rustling in the wind. John could see Sherlock with him, all the times Sherlock had saved his life without John ever realising it.

****So maybe John wasn't proud, but oblivion brought back Sherlock, if only for an hour or so, so at least John could be happy, an emotion he hadn't frequented for two years. Two years since a very life-shattering fall. Two years of pain. Two years of oblivion.


	16. Percentage

**Author's Note: I'm sorry I haven't updated in a week. My mom's birthday was this past weekend and I had some family stuff and my friends and I went to an amusement park on Monday and I've had writer's block.  
Excuses, excuses, I know. I really am sorry.**

**I figure after the last chapter, I'd give you something on the fluffier side. P is for percentage.**

**I'll try to update tomorrow or Saturday, because on Sunday I leave to go out of the country for seven days and I won't be able to update at all next week. Sorry about that.**

**Reviews and constructive criticism are always welcome!  
Happy Reading!**

_**Disclaimer: I do not own **_**Sherlock****_. The show belongs to BBC and the books belong to Sir Arthur Conan_****_Doyle._**

* * *

Percentage

How they had come to a conversation about percentages, John Watson would never know.

You'd think, living with Sherlock Holmes, that conversations would be a bit more interesting. You'd think they'd be about topics worth talking about. With cases and deductions and everything else Sherlock involved himself with, interesting conversation shouldn't be too difficult to keep.

Alas, here they were, discussing percentages.

As it turns out, Sherlock adored percentages. Something about keeping things straight in his own mind. Apparently the percentages helped organise things, and if Sherlock didn't have percentages for something, he went a bit off the deep end.

John was two hundred percent sure that Sherlock was one hundred percent crazy.

Sherlock was two hundred percent sure that John thought he was one hundred percent crazy.

Sherlock was ninety percent sure he was only forty percent crazy, but that's beside the point.

The point is that Sherlock was freaking out about percentages, while John sat there bored. And when John sat there bored, he usually found something to focus on to keep his mind occupied. Far too often, that something was Sherlock Holmes. Today was no exception.

He looked at Sherlock, taking in the man's voluminous, curly locks, black as midnight. He noted Sherlock's piercing eyes, colourful and captivating. A year ago he might've freaked a bit at calling his flatmate captivating and voluminous. Now it was a bit of a habit. It was routine.

John had fancied he was in love with Sherlock a few months back. He had been in a bit of denial for a long while, but eventually he had to wake up and smell the roses. He had to face facts.

Sherlock had never been simply a flatmate. Sherlock was a man who amazed him, annoyed him, and engrossed him all at once. John's feelings for Sherlock were more than he had ever let on. Sherlock mattered to him. Sherlock saved his life. Sherlock fascinated him. Sherlock kept him sane. Sherlock was captivating. Sherlock had started appearing more and more in his various sketchbooks. Sherlock had started appearing more in John's dreams. Sherlock had started appearing more in John's thoughts. Sherlock Holmes had caught John's affections.

John had been a bit wary of it at first, but he eventually came to accept it. He had always figured there was a reason he couldn't keep a girlfriend. He always figured that reason was Sherlock. He now realised that the reason was Sherlock in more ways than one.

John was snapped out of his thoughts by Sherlock asking him a question. "Are there any percentages you always have in your head, John?"

Possibly due to his halfway spaced-out mindset, without thinking, John simply replied, "I'm one hundred percent in love with you."

Sherlock only replied, "Well that's a thought we have in common about each other then," before going on with his percentage monologue.

Not that John heard the rest. He was still hung up on the part where he had told Sherlock he loved him and Sherlock had said it back.


	17. Quirks

**Author's Note: Two updates in a row! This one was fun to write. Q is for quirks. **

**I'm going to try and update tomorrow as well, considering I'll be gone for a week starting Sunday, July 21st and ending Sunday, July 28th. I'll be in another country, most likely without wifi, and I won't be able to write/update. If I don't update tomorrow, I apologise. I still have to do things like pack and whatnot.**

**Reviews and constructive criticism are always welcome!  
Happy Reading!**

_**Disclaimer: I do not own**_** Sherlock****_. The show belongs to BBC and the books belong to Sir Arthur Conan_**_**Doyle.**_

* * *

Quirks

Everyone had their various quirks, it was part of human nature.

For example, John could never leave the house without making his bed. It bothered him, made him crazy. He just couldn't leave his bed messy. He'd been like that ever since he was a boy, never really could explain it. It was a simple quirk. Everyone had them.

Sherlock just had more than most.

Why? Because he was Sherlock. There really was no other reason. Sherlock just had to be as annoying as physically possible. Everything Sherlock did was a quirk. Sure enough, it annoyed the hell out of John and anyone else Sherlock came into frequent contact with. (It especially annoyed John, considering he had to deal with Sherlock the most.)

What type of quirks did Sherlock have? Just about all of them. He didn't like it when his food touched. He couldn't eat a bite of one type of dish and then take a bite of another and go back and forth. He had to eat one dish at a time. He would never put away an experiment he was still working on. It would sit there for days on end until it was completed (which could really scare John, considering he would come home to eyeballs sitting on the kitchen counter).

That wasn't even the half of it. Sherlock would never go grocery shopping. If John didn't go they would either starve or go out somewhere. Sherlock made sure John didn't starve.

That was another one of Sherlock's quirks-or maybe it wasn't a quirk, as John wasn't quite sure-Sherlock would do anything to make sure John had eaten as much as he should. He's stopped whole investigations to make sure John grabbed something to eat. John had some theories why this was, but Sherlock never seemed to make a big deal out of it. John usually let Sherlock off on that one.

The list just went on and on and on. To some, Sherlock's quirks weren't exactly noticeable. To John, they were always present and always at large. Some of his quirks weren't bad, like his insistence of washing his hands twice after using the restroom. Some could be annoying but were understandable, like his need to play the violin while thinking. And then others were downright awful, like his constant deducing and flaunting of his intelligence.

Today was one of those days when Sherlock decided that flaunting his intelligence was to be his pastime. Unfortunately, John was the only one around, meaning that John was his target.

John was peeved at his flatmate, but when Sherlock went on one of his deduction sprees, no one could stop the man. John learned that the hard way.

"Well, let's see. You're wearing new cologne. You're freshly showered, combed your hair a bit more than usual. Nicer-than-casual-but-at-the-same-time-not-formal clothing. You seem to be dressed to impress. But who are you impressing?"

"Sherlock, leave it alone."

"Let's examine your face. Shortage of breath. Dilated pupils. Slight blush."

"Sherlock-"

"You're in love, John."

"I am."

"With me."

"For some reason."

Sherlock simply smiled, took the man's hand, and rambled on about a case he had heard about recently. John smiled back and listened.

Maybe John didn't mind Sherlock's quirks as much as he let on.


	18. Rain

**Author's Note: Warning-shameless, cheesy fluff ahead.**

**R is for rain! And rain means Notebook-esque make out scenes because why not?**

**I have no regrets.**

**Anyways, again, I will be heading out of the country and will not be returning until July 28th, so no updates until probably Monday. Sorry about that.**

**Reviews and constructive criticism are always welcome!  
Happy Reading!**

_**Disclaimer: I do not own **_**Sherlock****_. The show belongs to BBC and the books belong to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle._**

* * *

Rain

John Watson loved the rain.

He loved the way it felt when it poured down on you. Love the way it felt to simply relax and let the water wash away your troubles. He loved the loud crashing of the thunder and the loved the way the sky lit up when the lightning cracked across it.

He was enjoying that rain now, walking through it.

Sherlock had a case out in Wales and it rained their first day there. John took advantage of this to slip away into the cool, rainy evening to walk through the plush green countryside. It was nice to be able to do something calm for once. _And why wouldn't it be calm? Sherlock's not here._

Oh, if only he knew.

Sherlock had followed him out, making sure he stayed a big enough distance away. He hid when he could and made sure he was quiet. For one of the first times in history, Sherlock was content not to make a peep. (The man even deduced in his sleep, for crying out loud.)

Of course Sherlock couldn't let John out in foreign countryside all alone. They were on a case! And Sherlock ever leaving John alone? Sherlock even considering giving John a quiet moment? Preposterous!

Sherlock couldn't simply let John go out like that. No, no, no. Much too dangerous. Much too much time for John to think. Much too much time for Sherlock to be without John.

But Sherlock was content to simply stay fifty yards behind the small man, simply observing. He liked to observe John. John was interesting. John was his best friend. John was the best friend of a man without friends. John was special.

But the hidden Sherlock was found soon enough, unfortunately. And John looked a bit pissed.

He ran back up to Sherlock, trying his hardest to get right up in the taller man's face. "Really, Sherlock? You couldn't leave me alone for an hour at most? You couldn't give me some peace and quiet, some relaxation? You couldn't give me just a moment's rest to settle my own thoughts?" John was getting dangerously close to Sherlock now, the rain dripping off his blond head and matting down Sherlock's insane curls.

"John-I, er, um, I apologise." Sherlock was starting to get a bit nervous when John started getting so close to him, completely drenched.

"Sherlock, apologies don't fix everything."

"Then what fixes it?"

John moved steadily closer and closer to the consulting detective. "I'm not sure. But for now, I think this will do." And John smashed his lips onto Sherlock's.

Sherlock wasn't quite sure what compelled him to kiss back so passionately, but he immediately wrapped his arms around the doctor's waist and kissed him with fervor. John wrapped his own arms around Sherlock's neck, still bringing them impossibly closer.

John nipped at Sherlock's bottom lip, smiling into the kiss. Sherlock deepened the kiss, smiling back contentedly.

They kept on for quite some time until John had to break away due to a need of air. Neither of them were quite happy about parting, but apparently the human body desperately needs oxygen. Almost as desperately as Sherlock needed John and John needed Sherlock. Almost.

Sherlock figured they would've kept on like that had he not noticed John shivering. They walked back to their inn quickly, Sherlock's arm around John's shoulder protectively.

Sherlock figured both him and John would end up with colds, but kissing in the rain was definitely worth it, especially since he was kissing John Watson.


	19. Scarf

**Author's Note: Sorry it's been so long since my last update. I was on vacation last week and I got sun poisoning and I've been watching Supernatural, Star Trek movies, and Marvel movies nonstop since I got home. I just didn't feel like writing. Sun poisoning wears you out.**

**Anyways, it is wonderful to be back. S is for scarf. (Or s could be for Sherlock's sexy scarf. Both work.)**

**As always, reviews and constructive criticism are always welcome and always appreciated.**

_**Disclaimer: I do not own**_** Sherlock****_. The show belongs to BBC and the books belong to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle._**

* * *

Scarf

John hated that scarf. Hated it with a passion. Hated it more than anything in the world.

He hated it like nothing else. He wanted to burn it and scatter its ashes. He wanted it gone forever. He wanted that bloody thing to go away. He hated it so much.

Except he really didn't.

That scarf was just so, so, so... sexy. Matched with Sherlock's long, black coat, Sherlock was easily a very distracting sight. Well, for John, anyway.

Sherlock Holmes and his sexy scarf led John to the problem he faced now.

Sherlock had asked John a question about the crime scene they were currently observing and John had no idea what had even happened. He had been too busy looking at the way Sherlock's cheek bones perfectly gave way to his sharp jawline and how his jawline led down to his pearl white neck, which of course led John's eyes to that blasted scarf.

John shook his head and looked Sherlock in the eye, not answering the question. They stayed like that for a moment, and John was about to slip back into thoughts along the lines of "Bloody hell, Sherlock's eyes are captivating" when Sherlock cleared his throat and asked, "Well?"

After a moment's hesitation, John went for the easiest and most logical approach. "I'm sure you already know the answer. Why ask me? Just tell us yourself."

Sherlock looked John over with disapproval and slowly looked away, explaining the answer to his question, which he already obviously knew. Not that John heard the answer, he was back to staring at Sherlock and trying to keep it inconspicuous (a lost cause, of course, as Sherlock notices everything).

John continued to stare at Sherlock and his perfect features all the way back to the flat. Sherlock continued to analyze John's staring with disapproval (and lust, though he'd never admit it). It wasn't until they were in the privacy of their shared flat that Sherlock decided to confront the army doctor about his incessant staring.

"John."

"Sherlock."

"You have been staring at me all day."

John cursed silently. "I was hoping you wouldn't notice."

"I notice everything, John."

John sighed. "Of course you do."

"I want to know why you have been staring at me, John."

John struggled to find an appropriate answer. Finally he decided on two words. "Your scarf."

Sherlock looked perplexed. "My scarf? What about my scarf?"

"It's been the cause of one of my biggest problems with you since the day we first met."

"And why would that be?"

"Because all I want to do it grab that scarf, drag you to me, and kiss you senseless."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Then why don't you?"

"I-uh-what?"

"If you want to grab me by my scarf and drag me to you and kiss me senseless, why don't you?"

John just blinked slowly. Sherlock had just told him to kiss him. And he was just standing there. John was just _standing_ there.

When he finally came to his senses, he basically ran to Sherlock, grabbed that scarf that had caused him so many problems, dragged Sherlock down, and kissed the hell out of him. And Sherlock responded in turn.

When they finally pulled away for air, John's jumper had been shed, as had Sherlock's coat and button-up shirt. But the scarf was still hanging around his neck, John had made sure of that.

John just liked tugging Sherlock to him a bit too much.


	20. Tea

**Author's Note: Oh my God. I'm so sorry. I'm so so so sorry. I'm late! I'm late! I'm late!  
But seriously though, I apologise. I recently started my freshman year of high school and I was stressed and freaking out and a whole bunch of other things and I'm ready to crash and burn.  
So naturally I decided to write some fluff.**

**It's been a really long time since I've updated but I started high school so I think that's a good enough excuse.  
I'll literally be updating whenever I have the time and energy to. I doubt I'll be able to update as often as I have been before. Sorry, guise.**

**Anyways, t is for tea.**

**Reviews and constructive criticism are always welcome and appreciated.  
Happy reading!**

_**Disclaimer: I do not own **_**Sherlock****_. The show belongs to BBC and the books belong to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle._**

* * *

Tea

Sherlock Holmes has never been a fan of tea.

Even as a child he didn't like it. He spit it out the first time he ever tried it and he hasn't liked it since.

He was just more of a coffee person. He liked the taste. He liked the smell. He liked the bitterness it left in his mouth (because he drank it black with two sugars, of course). He liked the rush of adrenaline it gave him. He liked the way it kept him awake during the longest of cases.

Coffee was just superior in Sherlock's mind. Always had been. Always will be.

That was, at least, until he met John Watson.

John had a strong preference of tea over coffee. He drank the most basic, milky, black tea you could get and he drank it often. He loved tea. His mother used to make him a cuppa when he was small and he couldn't get enough of it.

So Sherlock found himself making tea more often. He'd make John some every once and awhile. John's posture and mood always improved after Sherlock handed it to him, making Sherlock smile the most minuscule smile one could think of. Sometimes Sherlock even asked John to make him some tea, which he always took with ridiculous amounts of sugar. He rarely drank the whole thing-if he drank it at all-but John always seemed happy to make tea.

Sherlock liked to make John happy in the smallest ways. (He'd never admit it, of course, but that doesn't mean it wasn't true.)

They were in the middle of a long and difficult case and Sherlock needed caffeine and sugar. And he needed lots of it. But, to his dismay, they were out of coffee. And Sherlock had not the time nor the effort to go out and get some. So tea it was.

"John?"

"Yes, Sherlock?"

"Could you make me a cup of tea?"

John's face brightened instantly, and Sherlock's frown lessened the smallest bit.

"Of course, Sherlock."

Sherlock simply nodded and turned back to his work, his eyes a bit brighter than they were before.

John soon handed Sherlock his cup of tea, enough sugar piled in to rot his teeth instantly. Sherlock admittedly had a sweet tooth, and his obsession and love of sugar was a bit more than a little unhealthy.

John just smiled as Sherlock nodded a thank you and went back to his work quietly.

Sherlock actually drank the entire cup of tea (which was quite the surprise). The sugar and caffeine had woken him up quite a bit, and he finished the last bit of investigation and experimentation quickly. He quickly moved out the door, texting Lestrade his findings, and John on his tail.

It didn't take long to get the murderer behind bars. Not that Sherlock stayed long enough to see it happen, he had left quickly to grab dinner with John.

John had a cup of tea, of course, and Sherlock finally got his much-needed and much-desired cup of coffee, black, two sugars.

Sherlock couldn't help but think that tea became much more desirable once John raised the mug up to his lips.

And Sherlock could tell by the dilation of his pupils that John couldn't help but find coffee a bit more interesting when Sherlock took a sip of his desired caffeinated drink.

When Sherlock found himself kissing John later that night, he couldn't say he still thought tea tasted so awful.


End file.
